


Phantom

by Anwen_Nyx



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Resurrection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anwen_Nyx/pseuds/Anwen_Nyx
Summary: “Hello, Alina.” I sucked in a breath as he spoke, feeling my throat tighten.This is a dream, Alina.BreatheOne. Two Three. Four. Five. Six.“Aleksander."  My voice was hardly a whisper. I hadn’t spoken his name aloud in nearly four years.He smiled then, his mouth turning up as he closed his eyes, savoring the sound of his name from my lips. How long had it been since he heard it spoken before he told me? Did his mother use his name, or did she keep his secrets even in private? Despite my fear, I felt my heart break for that smile.
Relationships: Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova & Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> So just a warning, I've only read the first three books and I'm currently reading Six of Crows, but I'm a little shit and spoiled some things about the return of a certain someone and THIS IS THE PRODUCT OF THAT.
> 
> So my working knowledge is thus:
> 
> Everything that happened in the first 3 books, about 25% of Six of Crows, and then nothing until the Darkling's resurrection. So if certain things are happening in this little fic of mine don't make sense canon-wise, you've been warned, and I appreciate a spoiler-free comment section pretty PLEASE.
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> Ps: Ignore typos and grammar and yadda yadda it's almost 5 am thanks a bunch.  
> Edit: So I did some editing, a little re-wording here and there, some finessing, so hopefully it's a little easier to read now. Please feel free to leave me a comment! Love you!

I sat in the orphanage's study; my head bent over a pile of paperwork I had been working on all evening. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the stiffness there and in my shoulders. I could hear Ana Kuya in my mind now, chastising me for my bad posture, spinning a wild tale of a girl who grew up with a hideous hunchback. She always had some tale of woe and misery for every critique, but I felt myself straighten just the same and felt the tension ease slightly. It had been like this for the last few weeks, bent over the desk, endless piles of paperwork replaced with more and more as the number of our charges grew. My fight might have ended four years ago when the Unsea vanished and Alina Starkov was pronounced dead and her body burned, but the country was still being ravaged by conflict, and work still needed to be done. So many children were left behind when their parents died and we took in as many as we could, giving them a haven to learn and grow. A home.

From above me came a loud thump and I jumped, startled. I turned my eyes up at the sound and I felt a pang of excitement as a small smile crept into my face. Listening closely, I was rewarded with the stern footfalls of Natasha making her way to the boy's dormitory above the study. The footsteps stopped abruptly, and then Natasha’s muffled voice could be heard spilling down the landing, full of impatience and sharp threats that I couldn’t quite hear clearly. I twisted in my chair to look behind me, finding Mal sitting in his chair by the fire, his sapphire eyes finding mine, twinkling with delight as he cocked his ear to listen as well. He brought his finger to his lips, shushing me, his mouth drawn wide in a mischievous smile, and I did the same. We were eight years old again, hiding in cupboards, eavesdropping on the staff, and it was all I could do to not giggle like the little girl I once was, finding her fun with her best friend as malenchki.

Natasha’s voice stopped, and we waited in anticipation for the inevitable chorus of young voices that would flood down the hall.

"Sorry Miss Oakra..." 

I stifled a giggle that erupted from my throat and Mal shushed me into silence once more, biting his knuckle to stifle his laughter.

More muffled sternness, and then...

“Good night Miss Oarka...” 

A giggle escaped me again, and I covered my mouth to try to silence it as Mal shook with laughter. When Natasha’s footsteps made their way to the stairs though, we both went wide-eyed, our childish game unending as we both turned back to our previous business. Turning in my chair, my hand reached out for some random document. I could hear Mal fumbling with his book behind me, both of us trying to read but failing miserably as we vainly tried to hide our snooping and laughter. 

Natasha reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the open study doors, her hands clasped in front of her. She wore her usual style of a long-sleeved grey dress that hung to her knees, simple brown leather boots, her dark hair braided and pinned in an elegant twist on the back of her head. I bit my cheek as I lifted my head, trying to neutralize my facial expression. When Natasha winked at me, her brown eyes shining in the firelight, I knew I had failed, and let the smile break free.

“Anything else I can do for either of you before I turn in?” asked Natasha, her voice the epitome of professionalism.

“Well,” said Mal, sighing deeply, his voice a mockery of seriousness. “The bushes outside need trimming.” 

Natasha’s brows rose skeptically. “The bushes?” she questioned slowly as if speaking to a child. I bit my cheek again, not wanting to give away the game.

“Yes, and the driveway needs repaving, I think,” I responded, mimicking Mal’s haughty but grave tone. “Oh, and what about the lawn?” 

“Yes, the lawn,” responded Mal solemnly. “What are we going to do about the lawn, Miss Oakra?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, but a smile crept across her face nonetheless. She grabbed the handles of the double doors and began to shut them. 

“Good night, children,” she proclaimed, though she couldn’t have had more than five years on us in age. 

“Good night Miss Oakra!” we called after her, mimicking the children upstairs. The doors closed with a little more force than was necessary. I snorted, sending Mal over the edge as laughter erupted from him unimpeded.

I turned my head to him and watched him stand and stretch, his arms stretched above his head and then out to the sides in an arch. I leered at his form unabashedly, admiring his toned and strong body, until he yawned. I clicked my tongue disapprovingly. 

"Don't you start yawning, or I'll start," I grumbled.

He turned his tired eyes to me, a grin spreading across his sleepy face. 

"If you don't like yawning, I know of a few other noises I could draw out of you." 

I felt my cheeks warm and I pursed my lips to try and hide my grin. I gave him a sideways glance instead and sighed, looking at my desk again. 

"Why would I let you do that when all this paperwork makes me moan just as much?" My voice was a farce of seduction as I swept my arm across the ocean of documents and invoices. “Try not to be jealous of my new lover.” 

"You could stop you know. It'll be there in the morning." 

Tomorrow was a long overdue visit from Nikolai. He wrote a week earlier to forewarn us of his arrival. It had been years since we laid eyes on the King of Ravka, but he always kept in touch, doing what he could for the orphanage. I was excited to see him again after so long and prayed this was a visit of leisure and not one of bad tidings as his letter was vague, to say the least. I expected his typical wit and charm, the pirate prince and too-clever fox that could dance from role to role with more skill and charisma than any professional performer on the stage. 

No royal letterhead this time. Just a simple parchment sealed in wax. It was addressed to our new names.

Inside the letter said:

_Dearest Beznako and Sticks,_

I scoffed in displeasure when I read the letter, having regretted ever telling him the nickname I was given before my powers manifested. 

“Not very clever,” Nikolai had mused. “But I can see how much it bothers you, so I think it’s perfect.”

_Apologies for the short notice but I am pleased to inform you that I shall be visiting in a week. We have much to catch up on. Expect a few of us._

_All my love,_

_Prince Perfect_

I had hoped to have more of this paperwork done before his arrival, and I vowed to finish tonight. 

"I'll stop soon. I have a bit more to catch up on,” I said, glancing back to the hill of papers that had once been a mountain. I blew out a gust of air between my lips, readying myself for the next hour or two (or three if I was being honest with myself) ahead. 

“All right,” he said, caressing my head before leaning down to kiss it. "Don't stay up too late, Sunshine." 

I wrinkled my nose at the nickname but nodded as he smiled sleepily, turning my face up to his as he bent down to kiss me. I smiled against his mouth, warmth blooming in my chest, that wonderful ache of love I felt every time I was with him. I pulled back and looked into his blue eyes, seeing the love I felt for him reflected back at me. He kissed his hand and laid it flat against my belly, and I covered his hands with my own as we both felt the small swell of my abdomen.

“And good night to you too,” Mal whispered softly, lovingly, to the child growing inside me. 

He kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, something only ever whispered between us when we’re alone in the dark. 

“I love you, Alina.”

I turned my face and kissed his cheek, whispering back, “I love you, Mal.”

With one last warm smile, one last glance into his ocean eyes, Mal made his way to the other end of the study, to the double doors which led into our bedroom. As he closed the doors with a soft click, I turned my face back to the task at hand, reading over the list of supplies we would need to order within the next few weeks to make sure it all arrived in time for the feast of Sankt Nikolai.

After the war, after everything we had both lost, we found ways to fill the hollowness that was left in us by the plunge of a knife in the sand. We declared ourselves dead, the saint and the soldier whose sacrifice healed the tare in the world. In our exhaustion and grief, we found a light at the end of the tunnel, a dream neither of us had dared to think would come true. We were free, no longer doomed to walk a path chosen for us by madmen who dealt in power. Our love bloomed, brilliant and vibrant, stifled no more by shadow. 

After we were married, we took Misha back to the place where we grew up and rebuilt it from the ashes left by The Darkling’s destruction. We built it in our image, a place where children could thrive, designed for their needs and comfort. It was warm and safe. It was a place where the horrors of war could become a distant memory, where they could process their grief, learn, grow, and live happily. With the help and support of our friends, we were able to leave the savagery of politics, magic, and power behind us, to live in peace. We were able to build a sanctuary.

And now...this baby. This miracle. I thought I had caught something from one of the children initially. The war caused its destruction not only through death and violence but by famine and disease as well. A lot of children in our care came to us sick, some on death’s door and we did our best to help them. Some arrived with missing limbs, or so traumatized they couldn’t speak. Some were very ill, and a few children came to us who had been exposed to Queen's Lady Plague. Our on-staff healer, Natasha Oakra, was the one to discover two months ago that I was not sick after all...that the endless nausea and vomiting was caused by something else. Something unexpected. Something wonderful. 

Mal was overjoyed at the news. 

“What’s one more?” I remember him crying, before he lifted me in his arms, both of us laughing and crying in our joy. 

I smiled at the memory, my hand sliding over my belly reflexively. 

Still, despite filling up my life with love and purpose, I felt the absence of my power, that light that broke through the darkness of the Unsea. It had erupted from me that day on the skiff when the volca attacked; when I was still just a map maker in the First Army. The power that saved us that day, that saved Mal from the vicious talons of the monsters of the Fold, that had always been a part of me was gone, and I still ached for it. I still found myself reaching for it in those moments when I laid awake - when the memories became too much. I still called for it when I was forced awake from another nightmare. 

I returned to my work, balancing the budgets and checking the inventory of the orphanage. The work was dull and monotonous, but I focused my mind, which easier now that the orphanage was still and quiet. I didn’t notice the fatigue creep in, or that my eyes opened less and less with each blink. I didn’t notice when I finally faded, sleep taking me as the pile was reduced to nothing. 

_Alina_

I jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath, my eyes shooting open at the sound of my name being whispered in the dark. My heart pounded as I found my bearings, the hairs on my arms and neck standing on end. There was a chill in the room, the light dim from the dying fire behind me, and I felt that chill wash over me as the echoes of that deep cool voice faded from my mind. I placed my head in my hands, pushing my fingers through my hair as I tried to calm my pounding heart, taking a steadying breath.

I dreamt of The Darkling often in the early days after the war. I would wake up screaming in the night as I felt the gentle touch of his hand at my throat, his eyes alight, lightning in a raging storm, as he promised to destroy everything I loved until there was only him left to comfort me. I would wake with the feeling of his blood still hot on my hands after plunging my Grisha blade between his ribs, into that ancient heart that beat only for power. I would wake up crying, his voice lingering in my mind as he asked me to say his name one last time. 

_Don’t let me be alone._

As the years faded, so too did my dreams of The Darkling. My dreams of shadows and mythical creatures, of radiant sunlight and powerful darkness, faded and melted into the dreams caused by everyday life. I mostly dreamt of the orphanage now, but only if I had enough energy to dream after a long day’s work. Most nights I didn’t dream at all, or if I did, I didn’t remember them. 

What scared me most of all though, more than the nightmares and flashbacks, was that sometimes I felt that shadow on my heart pull, that small piece of him that would always live inside me. I felt it grasp for that tether that used to bind us together, its tendrils reaching out like a phantom limb and finding nothing. It scared me because...I missed it. I had seen that void in the Darkling’s eyes at the end too. But where I had Mal and my friends to fall back into, to support me and love me, the Darkling had no one. He had followers, admirers, people who feared him for his power. 

Now he was gone. Dead, his body burned to ash in the pyre. He was dead. He was dead.

I took a steady breath, sucking air in through my nose, and out through my mouth, counting to six as Natasha taught me when the thoughts in my head became too loud, too overwhelming. 

_One. Two Three. Four. Five. Six._

_Breathe_

_One. Two Three. Four. Five. Six_.

I felt my stomach twist and a wave of nausea rocked my body. I grabbed my tincture from my desk, a medicine made from ginger and mint to calm my stomach that Natasha had made for me. I stood and turned, my weary body longing for bed, for Mal’s warmth. 

I turned toward the fire to see him sitting in the same chair that had Mal left. The Darkling. I gasped, dropping the tincture that thudded loudly against the rug as my hands flew up to my mouth to smother my scream, my eyes wide as terror erupted in my chest. I closed my eyes and opened them again, but there he was, wearing his black kefta, his chin resting on his clasped hands, his steel eyes reflecting the dimming flickers of flame and red hot embers of the fire. 

My instinct was to run, to scream the house down in terror but my body reacted first. The ghost of a memory, of our connection, reached out to him across the room. It longed to find its purchase, to feel that thread from the other side, but there was nothing but the memory of it. The connection was gone, as was the Darkling, his presence from the world erased by a plunge of Grisha steel into his heart in the dead land of the Unsea. Relief soothed my pounding heart. This isn’t real. Saints, I must be dreaming. 

I studied him for a moment, lowering my shaking hands to my sides. He looked just as I remembered - beautiful and eternal. The firelight shone through his dark curls, his steel eyes piercing even in the dull light. He sat casually as if the old leather chair were a throne. He turned his gaze to me, his face hard set and unreadable. The monster, achingly beautiful, and just as dangerous. So fierce but still only a man, a lonely creature who looked for connection through power and ambition. Aleksander, who waited his whole life for an equal, only to be ended by my hand in the sand. 

“Hello, Alina.” I sucked in a breath as he spoke, feeling my throat tighten.

_This is a dream, Alina._

_Breathe_

_One. Two Three. Four. Five. Six._

“Aleksander." My voice was hardly a whisper. I hadn’t spoken his name aloud in nearly four years. 

He smiled then, his mouth turning up as he closed his eyes, savoring the sound of his name from my lips. How long had it been since he heard it spoken before he told me? Did his mother use his name, or did she keep his secrets even in private? Despite my fear, I felt my heart break for that smile. 

He stood slowly, and I fought the urge to run to the bedroom door. I clenched my fists, my body going rigid as he moved towards me. The house was quiet now, the only sounds I could hear were the soft crackle of the dying fire and the sound of crickets outside as they played their symphony in the early summer night. I let those noises drown out the sound of my blood pumping through my ears. 

_This is a dream. You don’t need to be afraid. You’ve faced far worse things than a ghost._

I stood straighter but felt nausea churn in my gut as he stepped towards me. I swallowed, pushing down the fear and sickness, resisting the urge to hold my stomach so I adjusted my white nightgown instead. His eyes roamed over me, taking in every inch of me, a ghost of a smile on his lips as if he was recognizing an old friend. He stopped about a foot away from me, and I could feel the back of the chair digging into my thighs. His tall frame loomed over me. I had forgotten how tall he was. I craned my neck up to look into his face. He held out his hand. 

"May I?" he asked softly, asking so that he might see more of the room. I stared at his outstretched palm, a pang of panic shooting through me. The phantom connection throbbed in my chest. That wisp of shadow around my heart that had never faded away pulled against me. I clenched my fist harder, then splayed my fingers wide, trying to stop their shaking, desperate to not show weakness in front of this ghost. I lifted my hand before I could think about it anymore, and placed my hand in his. 

His warm fingers grasped mine, and I felt his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles. I shivered. I was again that frightened and alone girl, ripped from all she knew after my power had burst from me on the skiff. I was the girl alone with the Darkling after the ball, high on our triumph, high on his attention, my body aching in desire and apprehension when he asked if he could come to my room. I was the girl who didn’t want to pull away when his mouth was on her throat and he had pulled her closer. I felt shame and disgust hit me like a frigid wave. 

“You’re shaking,” he observed and I swore in my mind, frustrated at my body for betraying me. I looked up into his face, into his eyes that bore into me. Searching and a bit unsure, asking me a silent question. _Why are you shaking?_

“Let me,” he had once said. I shivered at the memory, the shame of it. “It isn’t real. Let me” 

But it had felt real then, and saints help me, it felt real now. 

“It’s not every day you come face to face with the ghosts that haunt you.”

The Darkling studied my face for a moment, his lips thinning slightly as he regarded me, his dark brows knitting, looking almost pained before he turned his face from mine to take in the study. 

He was met with a warm and welcoming space of dark polished woods, worn but soft leather furniture, and two tall windows that looked out into the front lawn and driveway of the estate. Around the fireplace were floor-to-ceiling shelves which were stuffed with books and trinkets, boxes of files and records, children's toys, and my paints, with weapons displayed on high shelves. The hardwood floors were covered in soft fur rugs, and the corkboard above my desk was covered in maps and children's drawings. His eyes lingered on the windows, taking in the grounds outside.

“You’ve cut down the tree,” he mused, his eyes returning to mine. I felt my face crumple for just a moment, the horrifying image of the three Grisha teachers, of Botkin and Ana Kuya hanging as the Darkling forced me to look. He had waited days for me to come, to witness his promise in its full abominable glory. I felt my guts twist in agony at the memory, and it was all I could do to not rip my hand from his and claw these steel eyes out. 

He didn’t seem phased, his expression relaxing as he looked down at our hands again, his finger brushing over the plain gold band on my finger. He placed his other hand over mine, squeezing. 

“The tracker?” he asked. His eyes grew darker then, before flicking up to meet mine, and I fought the reflex to look at the bedroom door. 

“His name is Mal,” I said with more venom in my voice than I intended. I tried to pull my hand away, but he gripped it tightly, his fingers closing around mine like a vice.

“And the other amplifiers?” he asked, coolly. His fingers traced over my hand to my wrist where the scales of the sea whip once laid. He looked at my empty wrist mournfully, and I couldn’t help but feel their loss as well. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“Gone,” I replied. “Burned with the bodies of Alina Starkov and The Darkling on the funeral pyre for the world to see. They’re gone Aleksander.” 

“Are they now...” His fingers left my wrist and trailed lightly over my collar bone, and I closed my eyes at the sensation, the weight of Morozova’s collar gone longer now than it was ever worn, another phantom limb that haunted me in the years since it fell from my neck. I resisted the shiver that wanted to rake through me. Whether it was from disgust or something else, I wouldn't let myself think about it. 

“You could have been a queen. And yet here you are, just a normal girl back in her childhood home with a soldier husband to warm her bed.”

“This isn’t exactly my childhood home, is it, Darkling?” I spat, pulling my hand free from his grasp at last. “You burned that place to the ground in your pathetic, relentless need for dominance over the world. Over me. Well, I never wanted a crown. I just wanted to be left alone!” 

He stepped back, clenching his jaw, his eyes blazing. He turned from me, rolling his fingers up into fists and I squeezed my arm, digging my nails into my flesh, willing the pain to be a catalyst for the end of this. 

_Wake up, Alina!_

There was a heartbeat of silence, hardly a warning as my guts churned inside me, nausea pushing up through my throat before I could try to push it down. I turned and fell to the ground, knees slamming into the floor as I grabbed for the waste bucket just in time for the sick to push itself up. My body wrenched as the contents of my stomach spilled from me. I pushed my face into the basket feeling my stomach clench for another round. I put the bucket down and braced my hands against the floor, my hair falling around me. 

Gentle hands pulled my hair back as I was sick again, and again. Tears stung my eyes as my body heaved, every muscle compelled to empty my stomach, my knees aching from falling to the ground. There was a hand at my back, rubbing it soothingly in small circles. I gulped down air, my muscles relaxing as the waves of sickness stopped. 

I pulled myself up and let my body fall back against the cool wood of my desk, closing my eyes as I felt exhaustion and soreness settle over my body. I could feel the sweat on my brow, my cheeks and lashes wet with tears. The Darkling let go of my hair, wrapping it around my shoulder, careful not to pull.

He looked so startled, kneeling in front of me, so taken aback by my sudden vomiting that I almost laughed. His expression was a mix of concern, and utter disorientation. I watched him closely, not sure if I had ever seen him look that way before; if anyone had in a long time. I reached for the tincture that had fallen to the floor earlier, and pulled out the cork, drinking deeply, feeling the medicine cool my burning throat and settle my stomach. I took another swig, swishing the mixture around my mouth, dissolving that bitter taste. 

“You’re ill,” he said, placing a hand on my forehead. I didn’t resist the soothing touch, his hand moving down to cup my cheek. I closed my eyes, my face tilting into his palm. 

“I’m-,” I paused, unsure of how to answer. I pulled my face away from his touch and opened my eyes again, looking at him softly. “No. I’m not ill, Aleksander.” 

His brows furrowed in confusion for just a moment before his eyes flared wide, understanding hitting him as his gaze fell to my stomach. I clutched it defensively, protectively. 

“I see,” he whispered, clenching his jaw again. He stood and bent down to me, his hands reaching out. “Please, let me help you.”

I looked up at his beautiful face, unsure. It held nothing of his menace now, just concern, bewilderment, a sincere eagerness. His hands were steady before me, where I felt so off-balance, so weary, but I couldn’t stay on the floor. I slid my hands into his and he gripped me, pulling me up. I stood on shaky legs as the Darkling wrapped his arm around my waist and led me to the chair by the fire. I leaned down and threw another log in as he sat in the chair opposite. 

I watched the fire intently for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

 _This is a dream, right?_

I was too tired to care. 

The Darkling watched the fire intently, the new log catching alight and I felt the heat of it wash over me. 

I turned my head to speak, to say thank you, but the Darkling broke the silence first.

"Have you missed me at all, Alina?" 

I studied him then, his stormy eyes intent on the flames. His body tense across from me. 

"Yes," I admitted, the truth making my chest ache as I looked into his face. It was something I had never admitted, even to myself. But I also knew it was a lie because I didn't miss the murder, the ambitious tyrant that once vowed to take everything from me until there was only him. I missed the man that might have been if the world hadn't been such a cruel place. I missed the man I saw only briefly in those stolen moments of connection, the man who was vulnerable and longed for someone to make him stop. But they were the same man. The man whose gentle hands rubbed my back and pleaded to let him help me find comfort was the same man whose hands placed that collar around my neck to enslave me. So I said with full honesty, “And not at all.” 

He huffed a bitter laugh, but then turned me too, emotion flashing in his eyes like a shooting star, there and gone in half a moment. 

“I’ve missed you, Alina. Very much.” 

It was my turn to laugh then, a bitter sound that had me shaking my head. 

“Did you miss me, or the power you coveted?” 

“Both.” 

I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into the chair as hot rage roiled through me. 

“Well Alina Starkov is dead, and so is her power. And so are you, by the way, and when I wake up from the hormonally induced nightmare none of this will mean anything.” 

“You truly think me a phantom?” 

“That’s all you’ve ever been!” I snapped in a harsh whisper, baring my teeth. “A black hole whose hunger for power will never be satiated! You think I could have helped you be a better man, Darkling?” I laughed then, humorless. as his eyes darkened. “After everything you’ve done to me do you think I would even want to try?” 

“So even dead, I’m still your villain,” he said, incredulity in his voice. I balked at his disbelief, disgust roiling in my gut like a worm. I felt revulsion at the treacherous glare he shot my way, the audacity of it.

“You’re everyone’s villain’s Darkling. You made that very clear the day you decided to kill thousands of innocent people at Novokribirsk. Or maybe it was the day you killed that stag and placed that collar around my neck to enslave my power to your will.” I felt righteous, adrenaline coursing through me. “You were so blinded by your delusions of Ravka liberation that you couldn’t see your own hubris.” 

I shook my head. His eyes dulled, his expression going cold. I refused to look away, my heart pounding like a drum in my ears.

“Delusions,” he echoed his head tilting, huffing a laugh as his teeth flashed. “It seems the pot is calling the kettle black, Alina. I’m not the only one of us who suffered from _delusions_.” He sneered at the word.

_Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait._

Ever happy to hear himself speak, I didn’t have to say a word as he continued.

“All this talk of my hunt for power and domination, when you coveted power just as much as I did. I felt your ecstasy when you used your power, I felt your need for it clawing at your throat. I am old and powerful Alina, but I am just a man. Still, you hunted for power, more and more even if it meant sacrificing the one thing you loved most.”

It felt like a punch in the gut.

“I had no choice.” My voice was a whisper, a lie I told myself after everything was done. He leaned forward in his chair.

“You had a choice, Alina, and you still pushed that knife into the Tracker’s heart,” he purred tenderly as if he were seducing a lover. I pushed my nails into my arms again, desperate for this nightmare to be over. Was this some sort of divine punishment? To be haunted by this creature, some sick twist of Morozova’s knife or the saints above, for being happy and moving on with my life? Why couldn’t I just wake up! Pain radiated through my arm.

His words dug into my guts like barbed vines.

“Do you still feel that empty space inside you, Sun Summoner?” 

He lifted from his chair and crouched before me, his eyes level with mine as his hand lifted to brush the hair from my face. His touch electrified every nerve he passed over, but his words were like knives making a thousand cuts.

“That hollowness where your light should be?” 

I felt that tether reaching out again, calling to him as it once did, begging to be accepted, acknowledged, bound to him once more and him to me. I could feel the weight of the amplifiers again, phantom limbs severed on the battlefield. I longed to be whole again.

_Like calls to like._

His hand cupped my cheek, the touch gentle, a lover’s touch. His eyes bore into mine, a silver storm reflecting the orange glow of the fire. I had forgotten just how handsome he was, how intense his attention felt. I felt my body betraying me as my pulse pounded beneath my skin.

“Do I feel like a phantom to you?” 

My only warning was the shift of his gaze from my eyes to my lips before he kissed me. I felt a startled noise escape me, my heart roaring in a thunderous pounding as his other hand came up to cradle my other cheek. His lips were soft as velvet against mine, timid but hungry, a beast preparing to devour me. My hands came up to grasp the front of his kefta, to push him away, to push him into the fire, anything. But as I gripped him tighter, I felt that long severed connection snap back into place and pull tight like a harp string, humming, playing a deep forgotten note I never thought I would hear again. Instead of pushing him away, I pulled him closer, a startled whimper escaping my mouth as I clung to that connection, my hunger taking control, clearing my mind until there was only this. 

I felt a deep sound of longing escape his throat as he kissed me deeper, more desperately, like we were lovers separated by years and oceans and not enemies whose last meeting was on a battlefield. 

“Alina...,” he moaned against my mouth, and I gasped, desperate to hear that sound again, my body burning for it, aching as I pushed my hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him closer. He pulled his mouth from mine, kissing down my neck, his lips puckering around my skin, his teeth scraping as my back arched away from the chair, a moan escaping my lips as I felt his tongue reach out.

The Darkling wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me up from the chair, crushing my body against his. He turned us so my back pushed against the shelves next to the fireplace and I moaned again, his weight pushing into me, his knee pushing between my legs. 

I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped me, feeling his weight, his heat, his desire through the restored tether. His beast roared with mine, leaving only us in our pleasure. I couldn’t hold back as I breathed his name against his ear.

“Aleksander…”

I remembered that night back in the Little Palace when I felt his hunger for me mixed with anger. He hated himself for wanting me, and I felt that same fury as he pushed me against the shelf, as his teeth scraped against my skin. When I spoke his name, lustful, my hands clawing at his back, I felt something break in him. He pulled back, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time, eyes wide with shock and longing and fear. He kissed me again as if to devour me, painfully, and I returned his passion in kind. I moaned, deep and guttural, into his mouth. 

_I know a few other noises I could draw out of you._

Mal’s teasing words flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning and I whimpered, fighting against the connection my body so desperately wanted to cling to. A battle was waging inside me, this carnal need roared against my free will, as I felt the Darkling’s hand move to my waist, up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple through the fabric of my nightgown. The carnal beast roared again, and I felt the need for him throbbing in my core. 

_Let me._ He had said. _It isn’t real._

_It feels real enough._

All at once my delusions of nightmares were shattered, and I gasped against the force of it. Dread filled my body, my heart once beating with desire now slammed against my ribcage in my growing panic. 

_This was real._

_Do I feel like a phantom to you?_

No!

I pulled my arms back, trying to bring them between us.

“Alina...my Alina...” 

Pure panic flooded through me, my mind shattering at the impossibility of it. I ripped my mouth away from his, my eyes wide as I looked at him. I felt my eyes sting with tears, felt them roll down my cheeks as they spilled from my eyes. The Darkling’s stare was desperate, the longing in his eyes fading into a panic of his own as I pulled away from him. I brought my hands between us and pushed against his chest, feeling him here with me, feeling our connection restored. 

Oh, gods...

“No,” I moaned, half sobbing as my world shattered in a matter of seconds. Every part of me was shaking.

“Alina, no...” he groaned like a wounded animal; like I was dying. He could feel me through the bond, and he cupped my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away my tears, his eyes pleading. “Please Alina, don’t.”

There was no other feeling but blind panic. I needed him to stop. I needed it all to stop. I need him to stop touching me. I needed to be in bed, with Mal, his arms tucked around me safe and warm. I was an exposed nerve, a being made of blasting power, and the Darkling was the flit. 

I pushed against his chest with all the strength I could muster. I couldn’t breathe, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. I felt myself crumple to the floor and he came with me. Still holding me, still looking at me like his world was shattering too. I could hear myself begging incoherently. I needed to escape. I gasped and gasped as my chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. My vision was growing dark, my head spinning. This can’t be real. THIS CAN’T BE REAL.

I felt myself explode. 

Light burst from me and I screamed, feeling the power of it burn through my nerves and veins. I was blinded by it, my panic rising as I felt my mind shatter. I heard someone scream my name but I couldn’t stop as I felt the light burning through me as if it would consume me until there was nothing left. 

For what felt like lifetimes, there was nothing but pain and light and my screams. 

I fell forward into silence and darkness, my vision filled with shadows as I gasped, finally feeling cool air fill my lungs. Mal ran to me, gripping my arms as terror flooded his face. He grabbed my face in his hands and then pulled me to him, his body gripping mine like a vice. Sobs erupted from me as I gripped him back, my whole body heaving with them.

“You’re safe Alina, I’m here,” he soothed, but I could feel his body, tense and shaking. He was afraid.

I sobbed harder, as I felt my power flowing through me once more. I felt like I might be sick. 

Through my sobs I heard him, the Darkling, blasted away by my light to the other side of the room. He was laughing, his whole body shaking with it. It boomed around me, deranged and triumphant. He was every inch a madman at that moment, eyes alight with victory. I looked toward him, clinging to Mal as I felt my vision blur and darken, all semblance of sanity fading with each of my sobs. He looked at me and smiled, his face radiant. 

“I knew it,” he said, marveling at the sight of me shattered on the floor. “I knew it couldn’t be gone.” All I could do was stare at him in horror. 

Mal just held me, not hearing a word. 

The Darkling sighed as if all burdens had been lifted from his shoulders, leaning his head back against my desk as he looked at me, his smile unfaltering. 

“Until we meet again, Sun Summoner.” Then he was gone. 

I felt myself fade then, falling into blissful unconsciousness.


End file.
